A Parking Lot Runs Through It

I was a young kid from St. Paul’s East Side when I first stepped into The Scholar one night. This was about in 1965. I remember vividly the rich scent of incense and herbal tea. And I also recall, as it was in the evening, the dim lighting with reddish hues. The eclectic, young, beatnik folk scene made an indelible impression on me—to this day I look to that very spot where The Scholar once stood on the West Bank longing for a glimpse into its past.

Bob Arcturo
St. Paul